


The Daily Grind

by snugglyrabbits



Category: Mario & Luigi RPG (Video Games), Super Mario & Related Fandoms
Genre: Blood and Gore, Death, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:40:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24544015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snugglyrabbits/pseuds/snugglyrabbits
Summary: Times are tough, people have been disappearing daily, and you are a poor citizen living in the Beanbean Kingdom.
Comments: 11
Kudos: 10





	The Daily Grind

**Author's Note:**

> (Howdy, here's a lil gory darkfic I wrote a couple Halloweens ago after thinking a little too long and a little too hard about the livelihood and economy of the Beanbean Kingdom. Proceed with caution.)

It’s unfortunate, to say the least.

Times are tough, and your hardships are multiplying by the day. You’re a single parent, trying to get by through the hardships of life. You live alone with your sole child, trying everyday to be the best role model for them.

You’re a proud citizen of the Beanbean Kingdom, and you’ve lived everyday with pride and a smile on your face, sporting your proud beanish heritage with spirit. But, now, your smile has faded. You feel tired. You haven’t heard your child laugh in months.

You’ve worked hard. Under the reign of the beloved Queen, you’ve been loyal and good hearted, willing to help in any way you could. A portion of the help was not just out of the goodness of your heart, though. You’re selfish, like everyone, in some way. You do this to stay alive, to survive through dark times.

You know you’ve gotten worse. That’s no secret. You’ve started showing up to work late. Your neighbors have refused to address you when they meet your wavering gaze outside. Your child is unhappy, constantly asking you when the two of you will be free to play games together again. You can’t answer. You don’t know.

Everyday, the economy sinks and shifts, and the people grow more worried about the future of their Kingdom. The exportation of beans keeps the Beanbean economy from truly falling apart, but that seems to be the only thing holding it together. 

The royal court has tried convincing their subjects that every single person working within the Kingdom is helping to better the community as a whole. You all are trying to boost tourism, send out items for trade, manage sales, and advertise. You work toward a common goal. You thought the economy would have been fixed at this point, but it still struggles to thrive.

You missed work today.

You realize people have been getting sick randomly, disappearing without a trace. Your next-door neighbor, one of your only remaining friends, had also become depressed and unmotivated like you. For many long hours, the pair of you simply sat outside in Castle Town, chugging bottles of Chuckola Cola and venting your worries away.

They had recently vanished.

You hoped they had just moved. Perhaps to find better work in a neighboring country, to find work that actually gave them a sense of accomplishment, instead of just working in what felt like a large machine, oiled by the blood of its workers.

But, you still stayed. You felt an obligation to remain in the Beanbean Kingdom, a deep-rooted need. The reason was unclear.

You avoid work like the plague, constantly making up excuses and calling in sick. Those days are the ones you try and spend with your child, in desperate hope they’ll understand this doesn’t go unnoticed.

Your neighbors talk to you now. But, they aren’t acting as friends. They act as warnings, insisting and begging you to return to work. You have to serve your duty as a citizen, they remind you repeatedly. You ignore them.

You’re running on nothing but caffeinated Starbeans coffee at this point, downing at least ten cups a day. You’re running out of money. 

When you try to go back to work, your employer simply informs you that you’ve been fired. They try to sympathize, telling you they’re sorry, but you couldn’t care less at this point. Perhaps you should just follow your friend’s lead, and run away. Move far away from the Beanbean Kingdom and all it’s stipulations and rules, keeping you confined to a job you despise. The Kingdom may be your home, but it’s lost its shimmer and grandeur over the years. The decaying environment was no place to raise a child.

One fateful day, you begin packing your things.

After your child leaves for school, you discreetly gather and pack up toys and clothing in a small suitcase intended for the trip ahead.

You’re interrupted to the alarming sound of harsh knocking at your front door. The knocking is followed by silence, before your front door is abruptly kicked open, knocked off its hinges as you hear the sound of footsteps entering your house. Voices call out your name.

It isn’t long before they find you.

The intruders are none other than official Beanbean soldiers, working under the rule of Her Majesty and His Grace, dressed in uniformed armor. They grab you hastily and restrain your arms, dragging you outside. But… you didn’t do anything wrong. Why are they doing this to you? Were you falsely accused of something?

You’re dragged outside, thrown into the back of a rickety wooden wagon with a few other beanish people. None are familiar. The wagon is covered by a damp cloth, you and the others unable to see the outside world. You are warned not to move, and to be silent.

You can’t help but glance around, noticing an unmoving body at your feet as you scramble back, curling your knees up into your chest. Their green-skinned hands are limp.

”He tried to run.” A stout beanish woman, pale in the face and sitting by your side, explained. “The guards stopped him.”

You don’t know what’s happening. Neither do the people around you, by the looks of it. All you know is you’re being transported in the back of a foul-smelling wagon like livestock or cargo to an unknown destination, the wooden exterior of the cart creaking and cracking as it moves along the road. No one says a word. You all fear the worst.

The journey seems eternal, but eventually the wagon lurches to a halt. You’re ordered outside, standing to attention as a Beanbean guard addresses each of your names, and then speaks loudly.

”Do you all know why you’re here?”

Spears are pointed toward the gathered beanish citizens; no one dares speak a word. You try to hide your nervousness.

”You all have given up on this Kingdom, and thus, you have given up on assisting Her Majesty.” The guard’s voice was firm. “You have outlived your usefulness here.”

There are murmurs.

”And so, today, you are being put to use once more. Under the royal decree and command of Her Majesty.”

You yelp as a spear is pressed against your back, the guards ushering you and the others forward once more. You trudge through what looks like woods, trying to glance past the lines of trees. The sun is blocked, a thick layer of fog misting your senses.

The others are crying, confused and scared. You can’t exactly blame them. You’re terrified.

You are led to a large industrial building, looking almost abandoned with rust crawling up the sides of the metal exterior. But, the doors are still pushed open, and you are led inside with the others. Your anxiousness only grows as you’re led down a dimly lit hallway, the flickering lights the only indication you have that you’re going in the right direction.

You turn, noticing dried blood stained along the grey walls. Your face scrunches up instinctively, gagging at the stench of blood and rotting flesh coming from further down the hall. But, interestingly, another smell is mixed in uncharacteristically with the disgustingly macabre scents of death: the unmistakable aroma of coffee.

Your thoughts come to a screeching halt as you go past another set of doors, glancing up only to be met with the horrific sight of a large machine unlike anything you’ve ever seen before, placed in the dead-center of the room. All you can focus on is the hundreds of silver blades on top of it, crusted with dried-up blood.

”Here we are.”

“Lock the doors. Get them lined up and ready.”

Another guard secures a grip on your arms, dragging you forward with the others. You stumble as you’re shoved toward the middle of the room and up a ramp. You dig your heels into the ground, trying to stall for long enough to beg for your life, promising to work harder, screaming, saying you have a child.

The only response you receive is a spearhead being jabbed deeper into your back.

”Please, I have a family! I have a husband!”

”The Queen has gone mad!”

”You’re sick!”

Despite your thrashing and struggling, chains are securely tied around your chest and arms. The same treatment is dealt to the other beanish citizens that were rounded up, each screaming and crying out at the guards, cursing them for ever doing such a horrendous thing. They ignore you, completely emotionless and dull as they force you forward. Your words don’t faze them.

Without any warning or indication, the machine below you whirs to life, the blades moving almost impossibly fast under your gaze. The pit of death in front of you, blurred in your tear-filled vision as it whirs ominously, is all you can focus on as the guards discuss things amongst one another.

You’re the first to go, they decide.

Shoved forward, you turn your gaze up, trying to look away from your imminent demise.

Nodding to another guard, a lever is pushed down and a loud clunk sounds from behind you.

You feel a force tug you up off of the platform above the machine, lifting you up and over the blades. You still try and wiggle and cry out in vain, to no response. You’re lowered slowly, your pleading voice drowned out by the whirring of blades as you squeeze your eyes shut. Your legs are crushed and torn apart, ground-up as your lower body is blended into nothing more than a bloody mush.

The pain is excruciating. 

Your screams heighten, and then fade to silence.

The last thing you hear before your entire body is dropped down into the whirring death trap is a Beanbean guard’s voice, shouting to you.

”You’ve served your Majesty well.”

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The door to Starbeans Cafe was opened with the same jubilant and eager nature as ever, a bright smile greeting the tired worker behind the counter. He fixed his glasses and apron, offering a weak smile to his customer.

”Morning, Joe!” A stout beanish man dressed in a formal vest spoke, folding a newspaper under his arm as he walked up to the counter, leaning against it with a grin. “How’ve things been today?”

”Eh… same old, same old.” Joe shrugged. “I’ve been missing a few of my regular patrons, which kinda stinks for business, but it’s been okay.”

”Shame to hear.” The customer replied, glancing around. “Well, you know my order at this point, right?”

Joe nodded shakily. “Yeah. Hoolumbian, right?”

”Precisely.”

Joe hummed, turning his back to his patron momentarily before going to work. It took only about a minute before he returned, rushing over with a steaming cup of coffee.

”Freshly brewed. The beans were just imported yesterday.”

”Ah, an exotic import then?” Taking a sip, the customer’s face turned upward to a smile. “It certainly tastes fresh. The perfect blend, as always.”

Joe’s gaze shifted behind his glasses. “Yeah… no problem, bud.”

Another long sip.

”Ah, I just love that natural flavor…” The customer chuckled heartily. “Keep up the good work around here. I don’t know where you get those beans, but keep them coming. This is a truly impeccable taste, Joe.”

Joe nodded faintly, wiping his hands on his apron.

The customer handed over a few coins in payment before turning and exiting Starbeans Cafe, ready for yet another day of work.


End file.
